Angry at the girl for oversleeping, she wrapped a robe about her and went down to wake her up. She pounded on the door and called her name. When the girl failed to respond, it occurred to her that Elspeth might not be in her room, and that could only mean she had not come home at all last night. For a live-in maid, this was a cardinal offense punishable by immediate dismissal. She was about to run outside to peer through the window and confirm her suspicions when the front doorbell rang.
She was so certain it was Elspeth, probably with some cock-and-bull story about having lost her key, that she raced down the hall and flung open the front door. It was a uniformed policeman. Her robe had fallen open, and for a moment she just stood there staring at him stupidly. His blush of embarrassment suddenly made her realize that she was exposed, and she hastily gathered the garment about her.
There followed a nightmare of a morning. Other policemen came, in and out of uniform. The telephone rang incessantly, all police business. She was told to get her husband up and dressed so that he could accompany one of the officers to make formal identification of the body.
“Couldn’t I identify her?” she asked. “My husband needs his sleep.”
“He’s a good man if he can sleep through all this,” said the officer, and then not unkindly, “Believe me, lady, you better have him do it. She’s not very pretty.”
Somehow the children managed to get fed and dressed, and she even prepared a breakfast of sorts for herself. And all the time she was eating there were questions: formal interrogations with one officer sitting across the table and another taking notes; questions while they were measuring and photographing the girl’s room; questions asked abruptly as if to take her by surprise.
After a while they left. The children were out in the backyard for the moment, and she had decided to lie down on the couch for a few minutes of relaxation, when the doorbell rang once again. It was Joe.
She scanned his face anxiously. “Was it the girl?”
“Sure it was the girl. Who else would it be? You think the cops didn’t know who it was before I identified her?”
“Then why did they need you?”
“Because it’s the law, that’s why. It’s like a routine you got to go through.”
“Did they ask you any questions, Joe?”
“Cops always ask questions.”
“Like what? What did they ask you?”
“Like did she have any enemies? What was the name of her boyfriend? Who were her friends? Was she upset lately? When was the last time I saw her?”
“And what did you tell them?”
“What do you think I told them? I told them I didn’t know of no boyfriend, that this girl Celia who works for the Hoskins is the only girlfriend she’s got I know of, that she looked all right to me and I didn’t see no signs of her being upset.”
“And did you tell them when was the last time you saw her?”
“Sure, it was around one-two o’clock yesterday. Jesus, what’s all this questioning? I get it from the cops and then I come home and get it from you. And all morning, I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet?”
“I’ll get you some coffee, Joe. Would you like some toast with it? Eggs? Cereal?”
“No, just coffee. I’m all wound up—my stomach it’s all tied up in knots.”
She went about heating the coffee. Without turning she asked, “Which was it, one or two o’clock, that you last saw her, Joe?”
He canted his head at the ceiling. “Let’s see, I came down and had my breakfast—around noon, wasn’t it? I saw her then. I guess I did—” uncertainly. “Anyway, I heard her giving the kids their lunch and then getting them ready for their nap. Then I went up to get dressed and by the time I came back she was already gone.”
“You didn’t see her after that?”
“What do you mean? What the hell are you driving at?”
“Well, you were going to give her a ride in to Lynn, remember?”
“So?”
“So I wondered, did you meet her before she caught the bus? Or maybe, did you bump into her in Lynn?”
A tinge of red crept into his swarthy face. He rose slowly from the kitchen table. “All right, come on. Let’s have it. What are you hinting at?”
She was a little frightened now, but she had gone too far to stop. “Don’t you think I’ve seen the looks you’ve given her? How do I know you weren’t seeing her on her day off? Or maybe right here when I wasn’t around?”
“So that’s it! I look at a babe and that means I’m sleeping with her. And when I get tired of her, I kill her. Is that what you’re trying to say? And I suppose, like a good citizen, you’re going to tell the cops.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that, Joe. I’m just thinking maybe somebody saw you, and if they did I could say like she was going on an errand for me, to cover you.”
“I ought to break this over your face,” he said, picking up the sugar bowl.
“Oh, yes? Well, don’t you go acting innocent with me, Joe Serafino,” she shouted. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t make a pass at a girl living right here in the same house. I’ve seen you when you gave the girl and the kids a ride and how you’d brush up against her when you were helping her out of the car. How come you never have to help me out of the car? I saw you right here through the kitchen window. And how about the other girl, Gladys? Don’t try to tell me there was nothing between you and her, with her walking around practically mother-naked in her room while you were sitting here in the kitchen and the door half open. And how many’s the time—”
The doorbell rang. It was Hugh Lanigan.
“Mrs. Serafino? I want to ask you some questions.”
11
ALICE HOSKINS, BRYN MAWR ’57, THE MOTHER OF TWO CHILdren and very obviously soon to have a third, invited the chief of police into her living room. The floor was covered with an oyster-white wall-to-wall figured broadloom. The furniture was Danish modern, odd-shaped pieces of highly polished teak and black sailcloth seemingly curved or sloping the wrong way, yet strangely comfortable to sit in. There was a coffee table, a slab of dark walnut supported by four glass legs. On one wall hung a large abstract painting, vaguely suggestive of a female head; on another, a grotesque ebony mask, the features sharply etched and heightened in white. There were ashtrays scattered about, of sharp-edged crystal, most of them full to overflowing with cigarette butts. It was the sort of room that could be attractive only if kept scrupulously tidy with everything in its rightful place; and the room was a mess. Toys were scattered about the floor; a child’s red sweater had been tossed on a chair of wrought iron and white leather; a glass, a quarter full of milk, was on the mantelpiece; a mussed newspaper was on the couch.
Mrs. Hoskins, thin and drawn except for her protuberant belly, waddled over to the couch, swept the newspaper onto the floor, and sat down. She patted the seat beside her in invitation, offered Lanigan a cigarette from a crystal box on the coffee table, and took one for herself. There was a matching table lighter, but as he reached for it she said, “It doesn’t work,” and struck a match for him.
“Celia is out with the children just now, but she should be back very soon,” she said.
“It’s just as well,” he said. And then getting right to business: “Was she very friendly with Elspeth?”
“Celia is friendly with everybody, Mr. Lanigan. She’s one of those plain girls who goes in for being friendly. You know, a plain girl has to have something else. Some go in for brains and some go in for causes and some go in for being friendly and good sports. That’s Celia. She’s jolly and a good sport and frightfully keen on the children. And they’re crazy about her. I’m just here to have them; she takes care of them from then on.”
“She been with you long?”
“Ever since before the first one arrived. She came to us when I was in my last month.”
“So she’s a good bit older than Elspeth?”
“Goodness, yes. Celia is twenty-eight or nine.”
; “Did she talk to you about Elspeth?”
“Oh yes. We talked about all kinds of things. We’re quite good pals, you know. I mean, Celia has a lot of common sense even though she hasn’t had much schooling. I think she left school about the second year of high, but she’s been around and she knows people. She felt sorry for Elspeth. Celia is always feeling sorry for people. In this case, I suppose with some justification, Elspeth being a stranger and all. And the girl was shy. She didn’t like to go places and do things. Celia bowls regularly and goes to dances and beach parties in the summer and skating in the winter, but she could never get Elspeth to come along. She would take in a movie with her occasionally, and of course they were together most afternoons with the children, but Celia could never get her to go bowling or to dances—you know, places where a girl could meet men.”
“Surely you talked about the reason for it.”
“Of course we did. Celia thought that part of it was just natural shyness—some girls are, you know—and that maybe she didn’t have the clothes for dances. Also, I suspect that Celia’s crowd were probably too old for Elspeth.”
Lanigan fished in his pocket and brought out a snapshot of the girl and the two Serafino children. “Mrs. Serafino gave me that. It was the only picture she had of the girl. Would you say it was a good likeness?”
“Oh, that’s the girl all right.”
“I mean, would you call that a characteristic expression, Mrs. Hoskins? We might run it in the papers—”
“You mean with the two children?”
“Oh no, we’d block them out.”
“I suppose public curiosity must be satisfied, but I didn’t realize the police were so cooperative,” she said coldly.
He laughed. “It’s the other way around, Mrs. Hoskins. We expect the press to cooperate by printing the picture. It may enable us to trace her movements yesterday.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“And would you say that the expression is characteristic?” he persisted.
She looked at the snapshot again. “Yes, that’s like her. She was really quite an attractive girl. A little on the stocky side, but not fat—what we used to call corn-fed. Perhaps buxom would be a nicer word. Of course, I used to see her around with the children with little or no makeup and her hair just pulled back—but what woman does look nice when she’s doing housework or taking care of children? I saw her all dressed up once in high heels and a party dress and her hair curled, and she looked quite lovely. It was just a few days after she came to work for the Serafinos. Oh, I remember—it was in February, Washington’s Birthday. We’d bought a couple of tickets to the Policemen and Firemen’s Ball. We gave them to Celia, of course—”
“Of course,” murmured Lanigan.
“Well—” She hesitated and then blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t apologize, Mrs. Hoskins. Everyone gives them away—usually to the maid.”
“Well,” she went on, “what I meant to say was that it was just like Celia to invite her instead of one of her men friends. Elspeth came over here because my husband was going to drive them down.”
There was a noise at the front door and Mrs. Hoskins said, “That’s Celia with the children now.”
The door did not open so much as explode inward, and a moment later Hugh Lanigan found himself in the vortex of two children, Mrs. Hoskins, and the tall, plain Celia. The two women tried to divest the children of their sweaters and caps.
“I’ll give them their lunch, Celia,” said Mrs. Hoskins, “so that you can talk to this gentleman. He’s here about poor Elspeth.”
“I’m Chief Lanigan of the Barnard’s Crossing police department,” he began when they were alone in the living room.
“Yes, I know. I saw you at the Policemen and Firemen’s Ball last Washington’s Birthday. You led the Grand March with your missus. She’s a looker.”
“Thank you.”
“And she looks smart too. I mean you can see that she’s got something upstairs.”
“Upstairs? Oh yes, I see. You’re quite right. I can see that you’re quite a judge of character, Celia. Tell me, what were your impressions of Elspeth.”
Celia appeared to give the matter some thought before answering. “Well, most people thought of her as a quiet, mousy type, but you know that could have been just on the surface.”
“How do you mean?”
“She was inclined to be stand-offish—not stuck-up, mind you, but sort of reserved. I figured the poor thing was all alone here and friendless, and I was sort of the old-timer in the neighborhood, so I decided it was my duty to kind of bring her out of her shell. Well, I had these two tickets to the Policemen and Firemen’s Ball that Mr. Hoskins gave me. So I invited her, and she went and had a very nice time. She danced every dance, and during the intermission she had a fellow with her.”
“And she was happy?”
“Well, she wasn’t laughing and giggling all night, but you could see she was having a good time in the quiet sort of way that was her style.”
“That was a promising beginning.”
“That was the end, too. I invited her to any number of dances and double dates after that but she never accepted. I’ve got lots of gentlemen friends and I could have fixed her up practically every Thursday night, but she always refused.”
“Did you ever ask her why?”
“Of course I did, but she’d always say she just didn’t feel like it, or she was tired and she wanted to get home early, or she had a headache.”
“Perhaps she wasn’t well,” Lanigan suggested.
Celia shook her head. “Nothing like that. No girl ever gave up a date for a headache. I used to think maybe she didn’t have the clothes, and being shy, you know, but then I thought maybe there was another reason.” She lowered her voice. “I was waiting in her room once when we were going to a movie together. She was just getting dressed, and I was sort of looking at the things on her bureau while she was fixing her hair, and she had this sort of fancy box like a jewel box with a lot of pins and beads and hairpins, things like that in it. And I was just poking through, looking at her things—not nosy, you understand, but just looking—and I saw this wedding ring in the box. So I said, ‘El, you getting ready to get married one of these days?’ You know, sort of joking. Well, she got kind of red and closed the box and said something about it being her mother’s.”
“You think she may have been secretly married?”
“That would explain her not going out with fellows, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it might. What did Mrs. Hoskins think about it?”
“I didn’t tell her. I figured it was El’s secret. If I told Mrs. Hoskins, she might mention it to someone and it might get back to the Serafinos and then Elspeth could lose her job. Not that that would have been such a bad idea, and many a time I’ve told her she ought to get another place.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Serafino treat her well?”
“I guess she treated her all right. Of course, they weren’t pals the way I am with Mrs. Hoskins, but you can’t expect that. What bothered me was her having to be in that house all alone night after night with just the kids, and her room right on the first floor.”
“She was frightened?”
“I know she was at first, and later I suppose she got used to it. This is a nice, quiet neighborhood and I guess after a while she felt safe enough.”
“I see. Now about yesterday. Did you know what her plans were?”
Celia shook her head slowly. “I didn’t see her all week, not since Tuesday when we took the children out for a walk.” Her face brightened. “She said something then about not feeling well and thinking she might make an appointment with a doctor for a check-up. Then she said she might go to a movie. Come to think of it, she said something about going to the Elysium and I said it was an awfully long picture, and she said she could still make the last bus home and didn’t mind walking from the bus stop that late—and here just what I was afraid of and warned her
against happens.” The tears came to Celia’s eyes and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.
The children had returned and stood looking wide-eyed at the two adults. When Celia began to cry, one of them ran up to hug her and the other began punching Lanigan with a tiny fist.
He reached down to hold the child away. “Take it easy, boy,” he said, laughing.
Mrs. Hoskins appeared in the doorway. “He thinks you made Celia cry? Isn’t that precious? Come here, Stephen. Come to mother.”
It took some minutes before the children were mollified and once again led from the room. “Now Celia,” said Lanigan when they were alone again, “what was it you were afraid of and what did you warn her against?”
Celia looked at him blankly and then she remembered. “Why, of going home late at night alone. I told her I wouldn’t do it. It’s so dark, that couple of blocks from the bus stop with the trees and all.”
“But wasn’t there anything in particular?”
“Well, I think that’s something particular.”
Again tears came to her eyes. “She was young and real innocent, The girl they had before her, Gladys, wasn’t much older than she was, but I was never really friendly with her, for all that we went to a lot of places together. She was a wise kid who knew all the answers, but Elspeth …” She left it hanging there and then impulsively, “Tell me, was she all right when they found her? I mean, had she been, you know—mauled? I heard she was all naked when they found her.”
He shook his head. “No. There was no sign that she had been sexually attacked. And she was decently dressed.”
“I’m glad you told me,” she said simply.
“It will be in the evening papers anyway.” He got up. “You’ve been very helpful and I’m sure that if you think of something else, you’ll let us know.”
“I will, I will,” she said and impulsively held out her hand. Lanigan took it and was mildly surprised to find she had the firm grip of a man. He started for the door, and then stopped as though a sudden thought had just occurred to him. “By the way, how did Mr. Serafino treat Elspeth? Was he decent to her?”
Friday the Rabbi Slept Late Page 9
